Bartering and Bonds
by PhantomPenguin
Summary: "I have got to stop landing these damsel roles," she muttered, finally allowing her legs to relax and sliding down along the wall until she was seated cross-legged on the floor. "Oh, I don't know, dearie…" He slid into the room his mouth turned upwards in an amused smile and his eyes dancing with ill-suppressed laughter. "You do an excellent job in your portrayals."


**Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or anything associated with the show...unfortunately. **

Well, it's finally happened. After a month of diving through every bit of Rumbelle fanfiction I can find, I've surfaced long enough to post something of my own...I believe this is the beginning of a long and beautiful writing relationship. As this is my first foray into the fandom, any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated =) And, as always, read and enjoy!

* * *

Grey iron bit into Belle's wrist and she grimaced, looking ruefully at the manacle that kept her shackled within the library, turning her sanctuary into a prison. She had spent the past few hours pacing in agonized suspense, no way of knowing Ruby's fate after her friend had locked her up and disappeared, running off to initiate her own demise. Unable to sit, Belle had strode agitatedly across the floor, moving as far as the thick links of chain would allow while she listened with rapt attention to the sounds of the mob beyond—her only indication of how the night was progressing.

There had been a great series of shrieks and yells, voices escalating to a violent rumble, torch light flickering eerily beyond the shuttered windows. There had been a wolf, of course, its agonized howls filled with such abject loneliness and self-degradation that Belle's eyes had filled with tears for her wayward friend. When, suddenly, the noises—_all _the noises—had ceased, she had bit her lip so hard that it bled, fearing the worst for her friend.

For a long while after, a terribly long, torturously still while, Belle's only companion had been silence. There were no voices out on the street, no murmurings or even mob sounds; there was not even the rustle of the wind in the trees. Belle had never been one to take well to silence, it having been her unwilling companion for far too many years, and her optimistic nature had begun to cave beneath a growing sense of despair. Just as all hope for Ruby's survival had fled out the door, a path Belle herself unfortunately could not follow, a piercing howl cut through the air, filled with the wild nature of the night and an unmistakable sense of liberty.

Ruby, it seemed, had survived.

Relief coursing through her veins, Belle drew herself slowly out of the dejected turn her thoughts had taken, now focusing on a different concern: her own sorry predicament.

Anxiety and dread faded rather quickly into the background as she enacted a starting contest with the unforgiving manacle wrapped about her slim wrist, a keen sense of resigned exasperation stealing across her now-clear emotional canvas. "I have _got _to stop landing these damsel roles," she muttered, finally allowing her legs to relax and sliding down along the wall until she was seated cross-legged on the floor.

The Dark Castle, Regina's Tower, the hospital, and now her very own library—yes, it seemed as though she had made an unfortunate career of imprisonment.

"Oh, I don't know, dearie…" A soft voice echoed lightly through the empty library, causing Belle to let out a startled gasp. She cursed herself for the involuntary slip, lest he think he had some sort of advantage. Then she remembered her sorry state and smothered a sheepish laugh; at this point, _anyone _was in a better situation than she.

He slid into the room with only the softest whisper of fabric, the lightest tap of his cane against the floor, his mouth turned upwards in an amused smile and his eyes dancing with ill-suppressed laughter. "You do an _excellent _job in your renderings."

Belle rolled her eyes and tried to pretend the sight of him didn't send a rush of relief coursing through her veins, that his was not the most welcome presence she had received all day. "I seem to recall _you _being the one to land me in such a position at least once," she teased, mouth turning upward in an amused smile. Even had she _not _been chained in place and desperately in need of a rescuer (and how ironic was that, anyway?) she would have been delighted to see him; it had been over a week since their last encounter, and that only a small smile and a nod as they passed on the street.

She appreciated that he was trying to keep his distance, that he was respecting the boundaries she had established—she really did. However, she _also _knew him exceptionally well, and this was far and away too much time for him to have been so uncharacteristically polite. She loved the man, but a little more time spent in his company would not be unwelcome.

Gold shook his head in feigned disappointment. "You wound me," he lamented, placing one long-fingered hand over his heart. "I have only your best interests at heart." He looked at her from beneath softened brows, the tenderness of his gaze at odds with the tongue-in-cheek manner of his words. And, despite the teasing fashion in which he said it, they both knew that he spoke in earnest, that every word leaving his lips spoke only of his heartfelt desire to keep her out of harm.

He had changed, her Rumplestiltskin, and all because of _her. _Belle felt a fresh wave of affection and pride well up within her and her smile softened into something tenderer and more subtle as she staggered to her feet, chains clinking with the movement. "I know," she affirmed, stepping as close to him as her restraint would allow. That reminded her…she gave the clinking manacle a wry look and extended her shackled arm toward her wayward love, widening her baby blue eyes and giving him a hopeful look. "My best interest currently includes being free of this cumbersome thing." She shook her arm to punctuate her point.

Gold stepped forward to meet her, leaning his cane against a nearby shelf and taking both of her hands in his. A peculiar smile flickered across his face and he traced a light pattern across her knuckles, running the pads of his fingers along her soft skin. It was so very rare, and even more so, lately, that he had Belle at his mercy and not the other way around. For as long as they had known one another, she had been the one controlling him, constantly unsettling him with her persistent committal to find the good in his broken self, holding him at bay with her fiercely independent nature and determination to "bring out the best in him." It had been at least a week since he had even _seen _her, in keeping with his resolution to let _her _set the pace of their burgeoning relationship.

Having her here now was a gift, one that he intended to appreciate as long as possible. "But if it isn't in _my _best interests?" he purred, the earlier gentleness in his eyes receding to be replace by a devious gleam.

Inwardly, Belle sighed, amusement and exhaustion warring with each other at his words. He _would_ turn this into a game, when she was tired and grungy from spending the majority of the night chained to a fire hose in the middle of the deserted library. Then the peculiarity of the situation caught up with her in a sudden rush and she gave a mental laugh and a shrug, committing herself to making the most of her current predicament. Quirking an eyebrow, she looked down at their joined hands. "Is there anything I might do to convince you otherwise?" she inquired, flipping their joined hands to capture his hold and mimic his earlier ministrations.

Now it was Gold's turn to raise an eyebrow, and he leaned in close to Belle, meeting her sapphire eyes with his own gold-flecked ones. "Are you offering me a deal, love?" he queried, accent thick and emphasized by the low cast of his voice.

He was in his element and it took every bit of Belle's self-control to wrest herself away from the inappropriate thoughts their conversation conjured. The sound of his voice was molten gold, seeping from his mouth to pool around her in a shimmering cocoon, encasing her in his words and tantalizing her every sense. Being this close to him was delicious torment, for she could draw no nearer as a result of the iron clasped around her wrist, and he seemed quite content to lurk just beyond the end of her reach, grinning that mischievous grin of his that she so loved.

The imp looked out at her through Mr. Gold's face, the two personas meeting halfway to yield a man who was wholly himself (and wholly _hers_, though she was still terrified that she would wake up to discover he had moved on from her).

A deal with the king of deal makers—probably not her wisest decision, but certainly one of her most daring. Adamant, Belle nodded, bobbing her head up and down, chestnut tresses bouncing with the movement. "A deal," she affirmed, looking him square in the eye. "You get me out of here, and I'll owe you a favor."

"A dangerous offer to make to a man such as me, dearie," he said, trying to keep his expression light, to keep the delighted relief at all her bargain implied—trust, absolute trust in _him—_from showing on his face and ruining their little game. Idly, he toyed with an errant lock of hair that lay coiled by her cheek. "Any favor I choose?" he queried, a sly smirk gracing his features. "Any favor at all?"

Belle shivered as his fingers brushed lightly across her cheek, hesitating and biting her lip before nodding emphatically. The _layers _he could build into a single sentence…she shivered slightly and repressed a smile, more delighted than she should have been to see a bit of his old arrogance returning. "Carte blanche," she declared, eyes narrowing in a silent challenge.

"Oh, excellent," he proclaimed, gleefully clapping his hands together. "I had _so_ hoped you would agree." A flick of his wrist produced a long iron key perfectly matched to her bonds. Slowly, not looking away from her own stare, he deftly slid the key into the small keyhole, long fingers wrapping carefully around her wrist as the manacle fell free. Gently, he caressed the reddened skin, soothing the angry, raw flesh where the unforgiving iron had bitten into her slim wrist. "This looks painful," he remarked, dark eyes filled with sympathy, fingers tracing smooth circles along her skin.

Free at last, Belle broke their contact and bounded forward, burying her face in his shoulder and throwing her arms around him. "Feels much better now," she murmured into his neck, lips tickling his skin. "Thank you, Rumplestiltskin."

Gold smiled softly and returned the embrace, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and holding the other out straight behind her back to summon his cane with a deft twist of magic. "You are very welcome, love," he replied.

They broke apart far too soon by either party's standards, Belle stepping back to put a few inches of space between them and Gold bringing his cane to rest before him, a symbolic barrier to any further contact. It was so easy—and yet simultaneously so difficult—to step out of their identities as Belle and Rumplestiltskin and back into their librarian and pawnbroker selves, both pairs inhibited by emotional baggage but the latter separated by other, self-imposed barriers as well. Storybrook had certain expectations for the couple now, ones that they felt obliged to fulfill.

"You must be exhausted," Gold prompted, meeting her blue eyes with his brown ones and crooking his free arm.

Belle nodded, stifling the yawn that his words seemed to, as if by magic, have summoned. "A bit," she confessed, looking up at him from beneath suddenly-heavy lids. She took his arm, trusting him to keep her upright and oriented as they made their way toward the front door.

Gold tried to pretend that the sight of her, hair mussed and eyes soft and clothing rumpled, had no effect on him, that he was not mere seconds away from calling in that favor right then and there. His struggle must have shown on his face, for when they reached the door Belle stopped him with a light squeeze of his elbow, pulling him to her and standing mere centimeters from his face.

"Thanks you," she said quietly, reaching up to trace his cheek, "for saving me again."

The 'again' was not lost on either of them, and, smiling, he caught her wandering hand in his and pressed a light kiss to her palm. "Thank you for saving _me_," he murmured against her hand, lips tickling her sensitive skin.

It cost him, she could tell, to make such an admission, to bare himself so vulnerably before her, and Belle's heart swelled with a great surge of affection for her love. "You're welcome," she replied, giving his face one final caress before allowing her hand to drop.

They stood in silence for a long moment staring at one another, the moon shining through the open door to cast its silvery glow on her face while casting his own into shadow. Finally, Gold nodded slightly and turned away, moving to return to his home. "Goodnight, Belle," he whispered, stepping out into the brisk night.

Belle watched him walk away, her thoughts racing. Suddenly she surged forward and caught his shoulder, spinning him around to face her. She moved her hands up to his shoulders, bringing her mouth up to meet his in a searing kiss. It was restrained passion at its best, their lips moving together in a well-choreographed pattern, Belle's hands snaking around his back, pulling him close, even as he dropped his cane to cradle her face. They poured all of their love into that single kiss, all of the passion that had been closeted away those last few weeks sneaking into the embrace and converting it into so much more than a simple melding of the lips.

Finally they broke apart, breathless and bright-eyed, arms still wrapped around each other. Neither was sure how long they stood like that, embracing beneath the silvery full moon, but Gold eventually pulled away. "I really do need to be leaving," he said regretfully, making no move to do so.

Nodding, Belle took a step back, disengaging her arms from their hold of him. "I know," she acknowledged, looking rather disheartened. Then she grinned, eyes lighting up, and leaned forward slightly. "That one," she disclosed, beaming like she was divulging a great secret and tapping his swollen lips with her index finger, "was on me."

For a moment he stared at her, uncomprehending, then his eyes lit up in understanding. "Of course, of course," he murmured, stooping to retrieve his cane. Resting both hands upon it, he closed the distance between them until his mouth was a hair's breath from her own. "That was all you." He brushed his lips lightly across hers then drew away, turning to the road. Eyes alight with mischief, he turned to watch her standing in the door frame, an expectant smile playing about her lips. "I believe you still owe me a favor."

Belle grinned outright. "That I do," she conceded, giving him a broad wave as he walked away. "That I do." As he disappeared around a corner, she could only hope that he would come quite soon to collect it.


End file.
